wishy

view my pics at flickr
A resemblance, that’s what she said - only a slight similarity. If I screwed up my eyes, peered through my lashes, maybe I could almost see it too – but I never ever said. I brushed some imaginary specks of ash from my sleeve. The sun had ducked behind a cloud and chilled her mood. An all too familiar lull. Her smile, hesitant but bright seconds earlier, faded and she looked through me, down the street, her thoughts following a 92 bus. I sipped my drink, toyed with my cigarette pack. I didn’t tell her I’d tried to find her. She probably knew. I looked again at the snapshot before handing it back. Keep it, she said. I nodded and laid it down, my younger, scruffy self looking up at me with amused triumph, the girl in the lemon dress smiling by his side, his arm looping her waist. Misplaced triumph - optimism, ignorance, whatever – I suddenly longed for it. I knew his future and I pitied him.
Shhhh. Listen. Fucking cat’s trying to dig his way through his litter tray. He'd really really like me to think he's covering his crap but I've got his fucking number. Caught him at it. More than once. Caught the flea ridden little fuck trying to smuggle the shitty grit out in his trousers.